Process of Poetry. 

Poets make poetry like they make love.  It begins slow, And then all at once. . We let the words  Linger on our lips  For a few seconds too long. . We find that spot And hit it.  Once, twice and thrice,  Till you feel it. . We find that rhythm,  Which originates from within, …

Not. Worth. It.

Not. Worth. It. How many nights have you gone to bed, with tears streaming from your eyes, mouthing the three words? Not. Worth. It. How many times have you wondered what went wrong before you convinced yourself that it’s Not Worth It? Just how many attempts have you made to find something redeemable till you…

My Superpower. 

I’m no wonder woman or supergirl,  Neither am I poison ivy.  But I too, have a superpower,  The kind you don’t find in comic books,  The one that makes grown men cry.  It’s been hiding in plain sight, Difficult to sense,  But felt by all?  I couldn’t go all Clark Kent on it.  Neither did…

To the Nice Guys… 

” I have a plethora of incomplete love stories,  That hide behind my eyes,  That play peek-a-boo every time I laugh at your futile jokes, I have a plethora of incomplete and hurtful love stories.  I’m known to fall for the bad apples,  I have an eye for details,   Details of destruction, evidently.  So,…

That Perfect Rainbow. 

My infinity began with counting the colours in a rainbow. The seven colours, right? Well, I was made to learn the VIBGYOR, to identify the violets and the greens. But I could never really classify the colours. That transition phase where violet turned to Indigo or when Orange turned to Red. Where did that fit…

The Stone of your Existence. 

You’ll disappear like the ripples on water,  No trace of you left on the surface,  Everything will go back to normal during the day,  The sun will continue to shine,  The birds will chirp,  My mind will be completely unaffected… At the surface But the stone that caused the ripple has penetrated the surface To…

Colours & Seasons.

Colours and Seasons. Colours and Seasons… Pass right by me. The scorching yellow of the summer and the lifeless grey of the monsoon; the withering orange of the autumn and the dark blues of the winter, all pass through me. I stand there lifeless, opaque and, hollow. These Colours and Seasons pass right through me….

The Victims of Time.

The sound of the clocks ticking, the whoosh of the cold winter breeze entering her room, the glare of the light and the creaking sound of the door… They all mocked her today. All perfectly timed laughs, first the clocks followed by the wind and climax – the door. They ridiculed her very existence tonight….

The “Untitled”/ It’s okay to not be okay?

Yeah, feel free to condemn me. Not really a genius title for a blog post, but there’s a story behind it. Rather, there are a set of questions behind it. A. How do you put a title on what you feel? Now this is a serious question because I’ve been trying to put into words…

The Eleven Words.

“Someone, somewhere is looking for you in every person they meet.” Since I’m turning nocturnal these days (or nights, if you prefer), I spend most my nights craving words – poems, stories, quotes. I scrolled through a mound of words to finally read the above line. Eleven words, one sentence soothed my thirst of words….

From a Love-sick me to a Smitten you… 

“In my plethora of regrets, I’ll have you some day, occupying a rather large area. If there were a throne in this Plethora, I’d crown you the King and for myself, I’d be the queen. At least, in such a languid dimension, we’d be something more. I don’t regret meeting you. I regret falling for…

My Black Hole. 

I’m collapsing. I have a void in me, now turning into a vacuum of humongous proportions. It’s my personal Black Hole… My personal Black Hole embellished with the memories of the mountains, the people, the terrain and the food. You never know what you miss till you experience it, right? Maybe not. I missed the…